Page 622 - sons-and-lovers

she said to herself there was no stability about him. He was
fine in his way, passionate, and able to give her drinks of
pure life when he was in one mood. And now he looked pal-
try and insignificant. There was nothing stable about him.
Her husband had more manly dignity. At any rate HE did
not waft about with any wind. There was something eva-
nescent about Morel, she thought, something shifting and
false. He would never make sure ground for any woman
to stand on. She despised him rather for his shrinking to-
gether, getting smaller. Her husband at least was manly, and
when he was beaten gave in. But this other would never own
to being beaten. He would shift round and round, prowl, get
smaller. She despised him. And yet she watched him rather
than Dawes, and it seemed as if their three fates lay in his
hands. She hated him for it.
She seemed to understand better now about men, and
what they could or would do. She was less afraid of them,
more sure of herself. That they were not the small egoists
she had imagined them made her more comfortable. She
had learned a good deal—almost as much as she wanted to
learn. Her cup had been full. It was still as full as she could
carry. On the whole, she would not be sorry when he was
gone.
They had dinner, and sat eating nuts and drinking by
the fire. Not a serious word had been spoken. Yet Clara re-
alised that Morel was withdrawing from the circle, leaving
her the option to stay with her husband. It angered her. He
was a mean fellow, after all, to take what he wanted and then
give her back. She did not remember that she herself had

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